It has happened again! I have been subjected to what I hope is just a clerk on auto-pilot, but if I am honest with myself, it smarts a little.
The other night Sylvia sent me a text that, in a very few words, explained that she had had one of 'those' days. In a moment of clarity and marital attentiveness I replied, "I'll bring home dinner." That was when I was reminded of what I wanted to write about today.
Decades ago I drew the short straw during a poker game at our house and had to go to get dinner. The poker game consisted of my grandpa, two of my uncles, some cousins, my dad, and me. The short straw was actually determined by virtue of my being born last. No actual straws were harmed during the sending of the youngster.
Considering that I am bred from what can only be described as strapping barrel chested stock. Our stats rival that of your average professional linebacker (minus the muscles) and we all had healthy appetites. I walked into Kentucky Fried Chicken well before the Politically correct KFC was born, and probably when the Colonel was still alive now that I think about it, and ordered. The rest of the clan was back home telling stories, drinking, and playing cards...probably in that order...and I was in the house of clucks. I ordered two large buckets of chicken, enough corn to qualify for farm subsidies, and enough mashed potatoes to fill a kiddie pool. I also inquired about sauces, butter, and if they had any deals that would involve me walking out with a cake or two. I was set. The clan at the house was going to be happy. I was about thirty-five dollars poorer. And then it happened.
The clerk said, "Is that for here or to go?"
"What??" I turned around and looked around me for the other six people who should have been with me to eat this amount of food. The place was empty. I turned back to the clerk and said, "Ummm...to go." and raised my hands from their sides, palms up, as if to say, "Huh?" The look on my face and the size of the order made him realize that this, even though it is probably ingrained from the date they start, was a stupid thing to say. He stammered, he cleared his throat, and then he apologized by offering me a free drink while I waited for this gargantuan order. I had just gotten over the sting of this harmless oversight when I cruised in to get dinner the other night.
We have "that" house where visitors are always welcome and lately the teenagers in our brood have been coming home with friends...so I padded the order a bit when I was at the newly branded KFC. For those of you familiar with this establishment, I'll just say, they were going to have to get out the BIG BAG to hold most of my order. And still, the kid behind the counter said, "Is that for here or to go?"
You'd think I would be ready with a reply.
"Here. And hurry, I'm on my way to a competitive eating contest."
"Here. But give me a water. I'm on a diet."
"Here. Don't worry, most of it is for my giant invisible rabbit friend, Harvey."
"Here. Forget the napkins...just bring the hose!"
But no, I meekly said, "To go." And then waited for him to see the error of his ways and offer me a free soda. No such luck. I guess he could tell by my order that I was trying to cut down.
The other night Sylvia sent me a text that, in a very few words, explained that she had had one of 'those' days. In a moment of clarity and marital attentiveness I replied, "I'll bring home dinner." That was when I was reminded of what I wanted to write about today.
Decades ago I drew the short straw during a poker game at our house and had to go to get dinner. The poker game consisted of my grandpa, two of my uncles, some cousins, my dad, and me. The short straw was actually determined by virtue of my being born last. No actual straws were harmed during the sending of the youngster.
Considering that I am bred from what can only be described as strapping barrel chested stock. Our stats rival that of your average professional linebacker (minus the muscles) and we all had healthy appetites. I walked into Kentucky Fried Chicken well before the Politically correct KFC was born, and probably when the Colonel was still alive now that I think about it, and ordered. The rest of the clan was back home telling stories, drinking, and playing cards...probably in that order...and I was in the house of clucks. I ordered two large buckets of chicken, enough corn to qualify for farm subsidies, and enough mashed potatoes to fill a kiddie pool. I also inquired about sauces, butter, and if they had any deals that would involve me walking out with a cake or two. I was set. The clan at the house was going to be happy. I was about thirty-five dollars poorer. And then it happened.
The clerk said, "Is that for here or to go?"
"What??" I turned around and looked around me for the other six people who should have been with me to eat this amount of food. The place was empty. I turned back to the clerk and said, "Ummm...to go." and raised my hands from their sides, palms up, as if to say, "Huh?" The look on my face and the size of the order made him realize that this, even though it is probably ingrained from the date they start, was a stupid thing to say. He stammered, he cleared his throat, and then he apologized by offering me a free drink while I waited for this gargantuan order. I had just gotten over the sting of this harmless oversight when I cruised in to get dinner the other night.
We have "that" house where visitors are always welcome and lately the teenagers in our brood have been coming home with friends...so I padded the order a bit when I was at the newly branded KFC. For those of you familiar with this establishment, I'll just say, they were going to have to get out the BIG BAG to hold most of my order. And still, the kid behind the counter said, "Is that for here or to go?"
You'd think I would be ready with a reply.
"Here. And hurry, I'm on my way to a competitive eating contest."
"Here. But give me a water. I'm on a diet."
"Here. Don't worry, most of it is for my giant invisible rabbit friend, Harvey."
"Here. Forget the napkins...just bring the hose!"
But no, I meekly said, "To go." And then waited for him to see the error of his ways and offer me a free soda. No such luck. I guess he could tell by my order that I was trying to cut down.
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